


Doves Cry

by tenshinokorin



Series: The World Can Wait [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Rufus is 16 initially so just hold on to your britches if that's going to ruin you, The World Can Wait, This fic is twenty years old, bishonenink classics, no unsolicited concrit please, there is no extended compilation canon or anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22545985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenshinokorin/pseuds/tenshinokorin
Summary: Rufus and Tseng, from first introductions to first blood. (Written circa 2000)
Relationships: Reno/Rufus Shinra, Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Series: The World Can Wait [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622164
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	1. Condolences

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the start of the FFVII fanon created by me and my partner llamajoy: The World Can Wait. We started writing it in 2000 and most of the fic dates from that time to about 2003. Doves Cry, or at least the first three chapters of it, was the first thing I really wrote for FFVII, and it began the slow creation of the extended headcanon we built around Rufus and his Turks. The song, of course, is Prince--but specifically the version used in Baz Lurhman's _Romeo and Juliet._

_ How could you just leave me standing  
Alone in a world so cold?  
Maybe I'm just too demanding  
Maybe I'm just like my father - too bold  
Maybe you 're just like my mother  
She's never satisfied  
Why do we scream at each other?  
This is what it sounds like when doves cry _

Sunset spilled over Midgar like a birth with too much blood, painting the silver-grey Shinra building into a shark's dorsal fin, looming over the city and trailing impending frenzy below it. Rufus glared at it all, his head throbbing from the cloying scent of funerary roses that must have permeated his clothing. Unshed tears made a dull, painful pressure behind his eyes, but he refused to let them go. He'd wept solidly for two days, but during the cold, austere service for his mother he'd not shed one tear, while his father sobbed and blubbered with all the grace of a vaudeville clown. 

Rufus narrowed his eyes. The old fool wasn't deceiving anyone. The whispers behind Rufus's own back had varied, most of them commenting on how brave he was being, poor thing, to have lost his mother so young. Rufus snorted. So young. He rather preferred the snide ones who were put off by his coldness, his not weeping for his mother. At least they were honest. 

Rufus smiled painfully, swallowing a mouthful of scotch without tasting it. He didn't feel young. He felt as though he'd aged ten years in the past thirty-six hours. Rufus tossed his hair. Considering that would bring him to the ripe old age of twenty-six, perhaps it wasn't the best assessment of his weariness. 

The doorbell chimed. 

"Come in," Rufus said to his window, not bothering to turn. He knew by the reek of gil that it was his father. 

"Hello son." President Shinra walked over to stand beside his only acknowledged child, who was struggling not to toss the liquor in his stomach just from his father's condescendingly affectionate tone. 

"Hello Old Man." There was no malice or affection in the nickname; it was simply what Rufus called him. 

The silence in the room thickened until it threatened to congeal, choking both of them. 

"Well," his father said at last, with the air of one who has just finished an unsavory task, "I'm glad we had this little chat. If there is anything-" 

"Thank you," Rufus emptied his glass. "You really needn't. I'm sure there is much you to do that's been neglected for the past few days." 

False sympathy was not an expression his father wore well. "I'm sorry you had to be the one to find her, Son." 

Rufus's grip tightened on the empty glass, eyes going hard. He'd tried for the past two days to shake the image, but it had burned into his retinas and there was no losing it. 

Eleanor Shinra, his mother, the most beautiful, gracious, kind woman in the world, dangling stiff from the chandelier in her room. The pale blue eyes Rufus had inherited were glazed and bulging, graceful neck bent awkwardly and savaged by the poorly tied noose she'd knotted with one of her old dancer's costumes. The floor was littered with more bottles than usual, all empty. 

It had taken her upwards of ten minutes to die, the coroner had said. 

They'd restored her beauty for the funeral, gold hair flowing like marble; flawless face made up subtly. She didn't look like a mother of thirty-two, with years doubled by grief and alcohol. Looking at her still features, Rufus could well imagine what she was like when she'd first met his father. An exotic dancer, to use the polite term, but Rufus could not remember his father calling her anything but gutter-trash. It pleased him to no end to keep her informed that he'd lifted her out of the muck, and he could put her right back the moment it pleased him. But it was good PR to have a wife, and she had given him a suitable heir, even if he was tired of her before the vows were even spoken. Life as the wife of the most powerful man in the world had strangled Eleanor far more slowly than the inept sequined rope looped over her light fixture. 

Rufus eyed his father coolly. "I'm sorry too." 

President Shinra's expression shifted to his best campaign visage, the one of decayed _noblesse oblige_. He put one thick hand on his son's shoulder. "How old are you, Rufus?" 

Rufus slid disdainfully out of his father's touch. "Sixteen." 

"Sixteen already?" His father chuckled. "Well well. About time to be getting away from your mother's skirts anyway, eh? Get yourself a girl of your own? I know one who'd be perfect for you. What's her name, now... Candi? Sandi?" 

"Father," Rufus used the term frostily. "I appreciate your trying to set me up with a mistress, but I have no use for one of your whores." 

President Shinra's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I think you might," he sneered, accusatory. "Now that your beautiful mother dear is gone." 

Rufus looked directly at his father for the first time, his face so frozen in calm fury that for a moment President Shinra thought his son was going to strangle him with his bare hands. "You're sick," Rufus snarled. "And I think you should have some respect for the dead, _old man_ , since you're nearer them." 

President Shinra raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat, son? You'll find, I think, that your life will be longer if you're a good boy and do as you're told." He spun on his heel and strode from the room, pausing in the doorway. "I'm having one of the Turks assigned as your bodyguard. It's not good for you to be alone all the time." 

"Oh goody," Rufus said, to his reflection, "A spy." 

President Shinra's eyes lit with admiration. "You're sharp, son. Sometimes I think you might be mine after all. But now we'll never really know, will we?" 

"Don't get me wrong, old man." Rufus only half-turned, "For all your pretty acting the part of bereaved husband, you might as well have put a gun to her head and blown her away yourself." 

His father smiled pleasantly. "Of course, my dear boy. But she saved me the trouble, didn't she?" The door slipped shut behind him. Two seconds later Rufus's glass exploded against it, shattering like frozen tears. 


	2. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufus meets the Turks, and has an altercation with his bodyguard.

_Dream if you can a courtyard,  
An ocean of violets in bloom...  
Animals strike curious poses  
They feel the heat between me and you..._

A square of white light appeared in the blackness of Rufus's apartment, making the man in the doorway look like a figure cut from black paper. He waited for acknowledgement, but there was none.

"Rufus? Your father sent me."

Something stirred restlessly in the shadows. "Which one are you? Forgive me, but you all turn into a pinstripe blur."

"Tseng, sir."

The shadow shifted. "Tseng. I don't believe we've met."

"No, sir."

"Lovely. Then you have nothing but my father's opinion of me to go on. " There was a clink of ice, as in a glass. "Go away. I have no use for a spy."

The presence in the doorway did not budge. "Your father respects you very much, Rufus. Otherwise he would have just had me come kill you, not spy on you."

The shadow tilted its head, strands of blond hair catching the light. "And if he ordered you to come kill me, would you have?"

No hesitation. "Of course. I am a Turk."

Rufus stood up, black against the lit skyline outside his window. "You certainly are a bloodless lot."

"Forgive my bluntness, sir, but we think the same thing about you."

Rufus turned around slowly, the broken illumination from the doorway washing over his tired features. The black double-breasted suit he still wore from the funeral was not a color that complimented his complexion. In addition, his sapphire eyes were red from crying, his hair rumpled carelessly. "Really." He gripped the back of his leather swivel chair for support. "You think so?"

Tseng shifted his weight, reconsidering. "Sir. My condolences, about your mother. She was an extraordinary woman. I only got to meet her once, but she was very... vibrant. You must miss her very much."

Rufus lifted his head, his smile tight. "Thank you, Tseng. I think you're the first person today to say that to me and mean it." He gestured to the dark room. "Come in. I'd appreciate honest company, even if it is one of my father's spies."

"Sir." Tseng inclined his head slightly, shoes crunching on broken glass as he entered. He looked at the remains of the scotch glass, but knew his place better than to ask.

Rufus sat back down, gesturing at the bar. "Feel free to make yourself a drink."

Tseng bowed again. "Thank you sir, but no."

Rufus ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing he must look unkempt. "No drinking on duty, mm? Well have a seat, then. Unless you don't sit on duty, either?"

Tseng smiled faintly, and settled in the chair opposite Rufus. The room was not as dark as it seemed to be from the bright hallway, and he could see as the president's son eyed him shrewdly, summing him up.

"How old are you, Tseng?"

"Twenty six, sir."

Rufus rattled the ice in his glass. "You must find it tiresome, being sent to babysit a little boy."

"I do my duty, sir. And you're hardly a little boy."

Rufus smiled thoughtfully at his scotch. "Perhaps. I'm afraid spying on me is going to be dreadfully boring, Tseng. I don't do much."

"You must do something, Rufus, or your father would not be afraid of you."

Rufus stilled, his fingertips hovering delicately over his armrest. "Afraid? Of me?"

"You've been raised to be his successor. I'm afraid that makes you a very dangerous young man. Especially with no love lost between you."

Rufus raised an eyebrow. "You tell me this to let my guard down?"

"I tell you this because it's true." Tseng cleared his throat. "I'll be blunt with you, Rufus. Yes, your father wants me to spy on you. That is obviously why I'm here; you are hardly in need of a bodyguard in your own apartment. Everyone but your father seems to know you hold no plots against him. All you have to do is wait, and it will all fall into your hands. But your father believes that everyone is as impatient as he is. He expects you to move against him because it's what he would do."

Rufus was silent a long moment, looking out at the skyline. "I hope," he said at last, "that after my father is gone you will remain with Shinra. I would appreciate having your honesty. "

"I am a Turk, sir." Tseng smiled. "It's not the sort of occupation one quits."

  


"Bored out of your mind yet, Tseng?" Rufus sat at his computer desk, changing the screen colors for the umpteenth time. "It's been two whole weeks and there's been no attempt on my life yet."

Tseng, at his chosen post by the window, shook his head. "You don't need a bodyguard, Rufus. We both know why I'm really here."

"Mmm. Perhaps I SHOULD plot to overthrow my father. Just to give you something to do?" He flashed a smile. "Here." Rufus opened up a program, and typed in an enormous, dreadfully silly font: PLOT TO KILL MY FATHER. STEP ONE: GET A GUN. STEP TWO: SHOOT HIM. He printed out a copy and tossed it over his shoulder to land on the carpeting. "Oops! GOSH! I sure hope my BODYGUARD doesn't find that! He might be a SPY!"

Tseng, in spite of his professionalism, was laughing. An edged sense of humor was the last thing he expected to find in Rufus Shinra. His father certainly didn't have one to pass on and Rufus, at public functions, maintained a façade that was nothing short of glacial. Charming, polite, and beautiful, yes, but deadly cold, and vaguely ominous. This Rufus--the one that was shaking his head with amusement--must have secretly inherited a decent personality from his mother.

"I'm afraid you might need to take up crochet, Tseng." Rufus shredded the paper into confetti and deleted any traces of the unsaved file. "I spent most of my time in my mother's company and now I'm afraid I'm rather at loose ends."

"With your mother?" Tseng knew better than to ask directly.

"Doing what, you wonder?" Rufus eyed him askance. "Well, certainly not what my old man thinks. She was my tutor, really. I had all my schooling under her and we would read together a great deal of the time... or play chess... I was four the first time I beat her."

Tseng looked out at the city, just beginning to sparkle for the evening. "While I admire teaching political strategy so early, you must have wanted to go out into the city from time to time. Did you?"

Rufus rose fluidly, standing at Tseng's shoulder. "Not often. Mother disliked it, and anything I wanted for myself could be brought to me. I admit to a certain curiosity, but I couldn't very well go alone."

Tseng was silent for a moment, thinking. "Rufus, if you would indulge me- " He lifted Rufus's favorite white trenchcoat off the back of the chair, and held it out. "I would love to provide you with an escort."

Rufus smiled, and turned to let Tseng drape his coat around his shoulders. The Turk's hands lingered a moment too long on Rufus's upper arms, the utter privacy of the two of them together suddenly very strong to Rufus. It occurred to him that Tseng had never touched him, not in all the long hours they'd spent in each other's company. Soft strands of dark hair teased Rufus's ear, and for a moment Rufus expected Tseng to pull him in closer, to nuzzle his hair and let Rufus linger long enough to identify the exotic spice scent that clung to Tseng's skin. 

But he was released, not abruptly, but with the same smoothness of a rehearsed dance move, leaving Rufus feeling childish for thinking it was anything but a subordinate's courtesy. Rufus fidgeted with the lapel of his coat, too aware that his hands were trembling. "Well. I'll just phone down for the car--"

"If you don't mind," Tseng said, sliding into his own coat, "I'll drive us."

Rufus hesitated over the call button, but finally he shrugged. "Living dangerously, Tseng?"

Tseng bowed. "If going somewhere without your chauffeur is living dangerously, then I should let you have my job for a day."

Rufus snorted. "I'd shoot myself in the foot." He held out his hands, crossed at the wrists. "So are you kidnapping me, or not?"

  


The sleek black car pulled into a reserved spot on the street, situated nicely in front of a line of shops and cafés. It was a section of town Rufus hadn't been in, but that wasn't saying much. Though it wasn't quite as tidy as the museums and boutiques he was used to, it was still one of the better sections of upper Midgar. The pavement was shining with a faint oily sheen from the light rain and the windows all looked warm and inviting, colored splashes of comfort against the cold asphalt streets.

"Where are we?" he asked, as Tseng turned off the engine and came around to open Rufus's door.

"Favorite place of mine. I think you'll like it." He escorted Rufus to a narrow brick storefront with only one fogged window and a painted wooden sign reading "La Vitesse." Tseng opened the door, gesturing for Rufus to precede him.

A warm scent floated out onto the street: expensive coffee, really good alfredo sauce, and candles. Rufus stepped into the dim room, Tseng a reassuring presence at his back. The small space was made cozy by deep plush booths, the sound of a saxophone somewhere playing softly and the murmur of cutlery.

"Follow me, Sir." Tseng led Rufus through the maze of booths, moving with an ease of long familiarity. He stopped at a circular booth set back from the rest of the tables, and raised an eyebrow at the two occupants who seemed deeply engrossed in doing nothing.

"Making your tab worse, boys?"

The scruffier of the two blinked, abandoning his pastime of spitting gummi moogles on a toothpick and melting them over the small guttering candle on the table. "Tseng! Where the hell you been, man?" His green eyes focused on Rufus, standing just a step behind Tseng and unconsciously radiating confidence. "Hey, I get it. You got a new pet, huh? No wonder you ain't been around, with a tart like that." The redhead smirked at Rufus. "Whatcher name, cutie?"

Rufus froze, fumbling for a reaction to this, lucky that his natural expression was one of slightly insulted arrogance. Tseng's spine stiffened slightly, and he seemed torn between apologizing to Rufus and beating the living shit out of the young man in the booth.

"Reno," the other booth member lifted his head, candlelight flickering over his sunglasses. "Try to overcome your moronic tendencies for once. That's Rufus Shinra. His daddy's name is on your paycheck."

Reno looked like he expected the name to show up on his execution order as well. "Ru-fuck! I mea, I-I didn't-I thought you were Tseng's uh-his um, not that you WOULD be or anything but-shit." He took a nervous gulp of his espresso and tried not to look petrified.

"Relax, Reno." Tseng chuckled softly under his breath. "I'm sure he won't fire you. Will you, sir?" Tseng glanced over his shoulder and Rufus, catching on, shrugged.

"No. It'd be less paperwork if I just shot him."

Reno went white. "Shot?"

"God, Reno, have some balls. He's jerkin' yer chain." Rude scooted over to make room in the booth. "Have a seat, sir. Can Reno remove his boot from his mouth and get you a drink?"

"Absolutely," Reno nodded, fleeing to the bar before taking Rufus's order. He seemed to need the drink more anyway.

"You'll have to forgive Reno," Tseng said, settling down in the youngest Turk's abandoned seat. "He's only been a Turk a few months and hasn't quite developed the proper demeanor."

"He looked petrified," Rufus commented, mostly to himself. "He can't be much older than me."

"Seventeen." Tseng folded his hands on the table. "We just lost a member unexpectedly, so we had to pull from the ranks a little younger than we usually do."

"Lost a member?"

"Raife."

Rufus glanced at Rude, but the shaved Turk was inscrutable behind his shades. For a moment, though, Tseng's gaze on his fellow was deeply sympathetic.

"I uh, I ordered you a house cappuccino." Reno reappeared, shifting his weight and looking none the better for the shot of something Rufus had seen him toss back at the bar. "Is that alright, sir?"

Rufus nodded, with a smile that lacked the greasy quality of his father's. "Relax, Reno. I'm not going to take your head off."

"Might mess up his suit," Rude muttered, "If Reno's guts are as spastic as the rest of him."

"Fuck off, Rude." Reno said affectionately, flopping down next to Tseng with an air of relief. "Geez, Rufus. Your old man woulda tossed me out the window for that."

President Shinra's office was on the seventieth floor; and it had been previously proven to be a fatal drop.

Rufus's expression stilled, blue eyes cool and distantly ominous on the youngest Turk. "One thing you should know, Reno. I am not my father."

The air seemed to thicken with implications, and Reno nodded his spiky head, swallowing hard. "Yes, sir."

Something shivered down Rufus's spine, a manifestation of the ghost-like vestiges he'd felt before. Power. It made his fingers tingle, his heart speed up just a fraction. Reno was a Turk; he had to know fifty different ways to kill a man with his bare hands before he could even be considered for the rank, and he was petrified of Rufus. Rufus could have laughed out loud. He didn't even know how to fire a gun.

 _These will be MY Turks_ , he thought, a flush coming to his cheeks. _I will make them mine. And then they will give me this Planet on a tray._

Tseng watched the quietness settle over Rufus's body, watched the faint darkening of his irises and the barest touch of blood ruddy his cheekbones. He smiled into his coffee cup. _Now you know who you are, Rufus Shinra. You know why your father fears you. Crush him if you want, the old slug is careless and he deserves it. Thank your dead mother for making you angry, but I... I will make you ruthless._

Rude set his mug down irritably. "Crissakes, Reno! Quit twitching!"

On cue, the background noise of the restaurant seemed to come back into the atmosphere of their booth; the tension evaporated. Rufus blinked as if wondering where he was, and wrapped his half-gloved hands around the oversized mug of cappuccino. "So," he began, putting on his best charming expression and innocent eyes, "What exactly do you... do?"

  


"No no no no no," Reno said, two hours, two sushi platters and about six rounds of drinks later, "Get this. We walk in this place and Tseng says he's looking for a blonde he met in a bar topside, right? So the guy thinks Tseng's looking to, y'know, rent for the hour and not hold somebody for questioning. So we wind up in this posh suite in the Honey Bee with this... this..." adjectives failed Reno, he held out both hands and gestured lushly over his chest. "RACK, who's REALLY enthused about her work. And Tseng don't even LIKE girls-man I thought we were gonna hafta pry her off with a crowbar or somethin'. You shoulda seen his face though, it was effing priceless..."

Rufus listened attentively, pretending he had half a clue as to most of the places and activities that Reno assumed he knew. As if just being born Rufus Shinra made him instantly worldly-wise; as if most of his sixteen years hadn't been spent in the same six rooms of his apartments. Rufus's gaze flickered to Tseng on the line about not liking girls; being sheltered didn't mean he was stupid. But the sleek-haired Turk was drinking his coffee calmly, ignoring Reno for the most part and only offering occasional corrections.

Rufus continued to nod absently, his mind going back to when Tseng wrapped him in his coat. If Rufus had been the kind of person that Reno assumed he was, what would Tseng have done? Tseng HAD hesitated, Rufus was sure of it. Those long fingers had tightened on his shoulders; the warmth of his breath had been feather-light on the back of Rufus's neck, just a centimeter too close.

Reno laughed about something Rude said in response to his grand finale and Rufus started, realizing he'd been staring intently at Tseng's face for some time now. Tseng, dark eyes narrow and shining, was staring right back.

The room was abruptly too hot; Rufus had to keep from looking like he was fleeing in panic as he rose to his feet. "Excuse me, but it's a bit stuffy in here and-"

"Oh Hells yeah," Reno agreed, fanning himself with a stray napkin. "There's a garden out back if-"

"I'll escort him," Tseng interjected, sliding out of his booth. "You two stay and enjoy your drinks, we'll be right back. Sir?" Tseng gestured for Rufus to follow him and Rufus, almost wishing it were Reno instead, complied.

The door was almost hidden in an alcove of plants behind the massive aquarium, and the keypad concealed by a false light switch. Tseng punched in a complicated code and the door shivered open.

A small garden was nestled behind the coffee shop, safe within high brick walls and lit by tiny lamps along the paths. Rufus had expected a stone courtyard with carefully raked gravel and no flowers; the only kind of garden he had ever seen in Midgar. But this was a riot of life and roses, lush and secret and warm despite the cold rain a few hours ago.

"I didn't know there was such a place in Midgar."

"Do you like it?" Tseng quietly shut the door behind him.

Rufus took a few steps deeper in, the wet stones gritting under his shoes. "It's beautiful. But why is it here?"

"La Vitesse is run by one of the few Turks who ever lived long enough to retire. She built it." Tseng lifted a burgundy rose, velvet petals jeweled with rain. "She always loved roses, and complained that there was no point in having off days without a decent place in Midgar to hang out." He inhaled the flower's rare scent, fingers lovingly brushing the thorns.

"Why did you bring me here tonight, Tseng?" Rufus gazed up at the milky-green clouds, smog reflecting Midgar's mako-lit glow.

"The Turks will be very useful to you, once you're president. I thought it best you get to know us now. Don't let Reno fool you; he is a very dangerous young man."

"Who is afraid of me." Rufus countered, perhaps jealous at the praise.

"Afraid of your name. You cannot rely on that forever." Tseng cleared his throat. "Sir. Someday you will have to fall into that name. You had best have allies and ammunition when you do."

"Well see to it, then, Tseng," Rufus retorted, mocking. "My father put you on me as watchdog; if you want-"

"There are ways around your father, Rufus." Tseng paused. "I do not think there should be ways around you."

Rufus folded his arms, deliberately turning his back on Tseng. "Then I have a lot of catching up to do. I'll get nowhere if everyone thinks I'm your pet."

"I'm sorry for that, Rufus." Tseng bowed, and Rufus granted him half a glance in curiosity. "I should have told them we were coming."

"Was it an unlikely assumption on his part, Tseng?" Rufus turned. Tseng was standing stiffly, eyes on the ground.

"No sir, it was not." Tseng looked him in the eye. "I am usually in the company of well-dressed, beautiful young men."

Rufus felt the blush before he saw the slightly triumphant lift to Tseng's lips, and became fascinated with a nearby wisteria tree. "Well," he said briskly, "I'm afraid I'd be a sad excuse for one of them. I lack the required skills."

"I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable, Rufus." Tseng's eyes narrowed speculatively. "I am just your bodyguard and well aware of my position."

"I am not uncomfortable," Rufus returned, sharply. "I am simply stating fact. You may fuck whomever you choose, Tseng. It makes no difference to me."

For a moment Tseng remembered what it was like to be sixteen and wildly jealous. "Doesn't it."

"You have my permission to stop picking at me." Rufus tossed his hair. "If you are so concerned about the matter you could procure one of your boys for me to practice on."

"I'd rather not," Tseng said, and something about his tone made Rufus look up, surprised. "Whores talk, Rufus, and if you wish to get involved with one it should be someone you either trust or can dispose of. Rentboys only fit one of those categories, and killing them is a rather pathetic waste of life and time. Keep your innocence and you keep your reputation and your cold distance. Your father never learned that, and it has cost him."

Rufus was silent a long moment, wondering how many of those beautiful, well-dressed young men were still alive. "You're a spy, Tseng."

"Yes, sir."

"Would you tell my father?"

"Tell him what, sir?"

"If I asked you to kiss me."

"There is no reason to." Tseng shook his head. "It's no threat to his authority."

"Well, then..."

"Sir?"

"Would you?"

Tseng hesitated. "Do you trust me, Rufus?"

Rufus smiled. "No, Tseng."

"Smart boy." Tseng reached out with both hands, lifting Rufus's face. "Let me show you."

Tseng's lips closed over his, gentle and coaxing. He tasted like bitter chocolate and cinnamon liqueur, warm and spiced and dangerous. Rufus surrendered to the lesson, instinctively sucking on the tongue that slipped into his mouth, caressing him from the inside out. It seemed to last forever; every motion of Tseng's lips against his own made the heat between Rufus's legs double, until even the kiss was torment, ruthless in its intensity. Tseng murmured words of encouragement and instruction, to linger more here, to suckle a little more gently, to do it back to him. His long fingers were tangled in Rufus's immaculate hair, one leg pressed against Rufus so that the Shinra heir was half-straddling him, clutching the lapels of his suit. When Tseng pulled back it caught Rufus off balance; he stumbled back against a wrought iron bench, his mouth tingling and still tasting of cinnamon invasion.

"Do you think you have it now?"

Rufus nodded, resisting the urge to touch his lips and see if they were as swollen as he thought they were. He grimaced as cold rainwater seeped from the bench onto his pant leg, and brushed at his suit, trying to imitate Tseng's nonchalance. "Thank you, Tseng."

"Perhaps this was not the best place for this," Tseng commented under his breath, frowning thoughtfully at the small garden.

"Would you like to go back inside?" Rufus asked, smoothing a hand over his hair. It wouldn't do to come back looking rumpled.

Tseng smiled ruefully. "You are too used to the company of your mother, Rufus. I am your subordinate. If you wish to go back inside, we go back inside. If not, we stay here."

"Oh." Rufus obviously hadn't thought of it quite that way, but he caught on quickly. "Well then." He reached out slowly, the black silk of Tseng's tie cool against his fingertips as he wound it around his fist. "Then I'd like another lesson, Tseng."

Tseng's exotic eyes glittered dangerously. "That does not mean I'm your plaything, Rufus."

Rufus tilted his head. It was a rare experience to be refused something. His grip on the tie tightened, knuckles going white. The heady rush of power added force to the heat between his legs, blending with the intoxicating smell of roses and Tseng. "Did you," he asked quietly, "Just tell me no?"

With the smallest noise of impatience, as if the whole ordeal were tiresome, Tseng reached up and with his thumb and forefinger casually applied force to Rufus's wrist. Rufus gasped silently, but to his credit did not flinch as his hand went painfully numb. Reflexively, his fingers let the tie unravel.

"You want a lesson, Princeling? Learn this first." Tseng leaned in closer, his greater height suddenly very imposing. "Don't misunderstand me, _sir_. I would dearly love to peel you out of every designer stitch you're wearing and push between your spread thighs until you came all over yourself like any little whore in Wall Market's silk pavilion." His fingers tightened, letting Rufus know how easily Tseng could shatter fragile wristbones. "I may be subject to orders but I will not be a personal trinket for a spoiled brat to do with what he pleases. In bed, if nowhere else, I am your superior. I suggest you think very hard about that before you _request_ anything else." He released Rufus and politely turned his head as the young man clutched his hand to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut for the agonizing seconds it took for sensation to return. Then Tseng bowed, eyes lowered, and motioned for Rufus to precede him into the coffeehouse. "After you, Sir."

Rufus, who had gone from flushed to deadly pale, lifted his head proudly. "Perhaps we can continue this conversation later, Tseng." He spared the Turk only the half-glance required. "In private."

Tseng delicately straightened his tie. "As you wish, Sir." His bodyguard followed him back into La Vitesse, the honorary three steps behind.


	3. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written circa 1998. Reno gets his scars, and Rufus gets a clue. (Cautions: dubcon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from the year of our lord 2020:  
> First, back in the day there was considerable debate if Reno's marks were scars, tattoos, or makeup, and we took the scars track. (There was no way of telling for sure in the exactly two pieces of official artwork of Reno.)
> 
> Second, Reno's gang is in fact Elly's strike team from Xenogears making a cameo. (The 3000g comment is also a Xeno joke.) I used the katakana-ized version of their names in this originally, but that looks really silly tbh, so I've changed them to the English localized versions. They appear again in the Mixed Signals fic, Reno's origin story, which comes before this chronologically but was written many years later. 
> 
> Third, dumb teens do dumb stuff to each other in this chapter because that's what dumb teens do irl. It's not meant to be safe or nice, and I'm not doing take-backsies on a fic that's 20 years old. However, knowing now that Reno's 'nightstick' is basically a taser does add a new wrinkle to the proceedings.

_Touch if you will my stomach  
see how it trembles inside  
you've got the butterflies all tied up  
don't make me chase you  
Even doves have pride.  
How can you just leave me standing  
Alone in a world that's so cold?_  


When Rufus' doorbell chimed the next morning, the ShinRa heir apparent was not even out of bed, much less at his usual spot behind his desk, reviewing his studies. The shrill electronic chime seemed to ricochet around in his skull and yank on his optic nerves, as if trying to get his attention. Rufus groaned and shoved his head further under the pillow. 

"Go away!" 

He didn't remember much of what happened last night after the garden; they'd gone back inside and Rufus had spent a good three hours drinking whatever Reno put in front of him. Rufus' stomach heaved at the memory, and he barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach decided to forcibly eject what felt like everything he'd ever eaten since he was twelve. 

He leaned his forehead on the blissfully cool porcelain and scowled at the doorbell that had not stopped ringing at thirty-second intervals. "Dammit to hell, Tseng, you know the fucking code, just open the damn door!" Rufus ran some cold water in the sink and stuck his face in it, slicking back his wet hair and groping for the white plush bathrobe on the bathroom hook. 

"Stupid fucking Turks and their damn decorum," Rufus slammed his hand against the opening mechanism for his apartment, making the electronic door whoosh open. "Tseng why didn't you just open the-" Rufus blinked. He may have been hung over, but Tseng was redder, spikier, and six inches shorter than he'd been last night. 

"Sorry," Reno drawled. "Tseng didn't give me your door code." 

"Where's Tseng?" Rufus demanded. When had he seen Tseng last? Oh yes, he'd driven him home last night. How had he gotten into bed? Rufus's brain muzzily tried to retrieve this information, but all that would come forth was a blinking 'searching' icon. 

"His day off. I'm your watchdog today. So can I come in or what?" Reno tapped his nightstick impatiently against his thigh. 

"Do what you want," Rufus snarled, and would have spun on his heel, stalked off and slammed the door to his bedroom, if the usually well-behaved white pile carpet of his apartment hadn't lurched up toward his face. 

"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Reno dropped his nightstick and caught Rufus before he could hit bottom, and aimed a kick behind him to close and re-lock the door. "Shit, you're in no shape to be up. C'mon, back to bed." 

And before Rufus could protest the entire room shifted perspective, and he was shortly thereafter deposited back in his rumpled sheets. "You don't have to treat me like a baby-" 

"I ain't. You drank a helluva lot more than most babies I know. Stay put." Reno vanished out the door and a few seconds later there was the sound of him moving about in Rufus' small kitchen area. "Nice pad you got here!" Reno called, over the brief rumble of the blender. "Thought it'd be bigger, though?" 

"What for?" Rufus sank back against his pillows. They did feel awfully good. "Less time the cleaning lady has to be in here." 

"Heh. Good thinking. You must have her in here a _lot_ tho'. The whole damn place is fucking white." Reno reappeared in the doorway, carrying a glass of thick red liquid with a frond of celery stuck in it. "Here. Drink this." 

"I _like_ white." Rufus protested, and stared at the beverage. "I'm supposed to trust you after last night? What is it?" 

"A Bloody Odin. Just drink it, 'kay? It'll make your head feel better." Reno rattled the glass at him. 

"What an attractive name." Rufus grimaced, but swallowed obediently. "Bleah." He'd never been much on tomato juice. The only reason he had any in his fridge was that someone else did the shopping for him, and Tseng had asked for it. Tseng. The smell of roses came back to him, laced with the heady rich cinnamon of Tseng's exotic Wutai cigarettes. Rufus wondered briefly if he was going to toss up again. Tseng had brought him home last night. Had he also undressed him and put him to bed?

 _Information currently not available,_ his brain responded, unhelpfully. But whoever had done it was probably someone who had his door code.

"Tseng took a day off? Is he sick?" Rufus tried to sound nonchalant, gnawing absently on the celery stick. It tasted good, and took the sour flavor out of his mouth. 

"Nah." Reno shook his head. "Even he has to take a break once in a while, ya know? Is that helping?" Reno tapped the rim of the glass with one finger. 

Rufus realized that his drink had been reduced to nothing but a few gory pieces of ice and some celery bits. "Yes, it did, actually. Thank you." 

"No problem. So ah, what's up with you and Tseng?" 

"What?" Rufus' fingers tightened on the glass. 

"C'mon. He didn't say two words after you came back from the garden and you concentrated on drinking about two dozen consecutive Hell Bubble Fizzies." Reno grimaced. "No wonder you're hung over." 

"As if it's any of your business," Rufus raised an eyebrow, "nothing is 'up' with me and Tseng."

"Heh." Reno plucked the glass from Rufus's fingers before it spilled on the perfect white sheets, and stood up to dump the contents into the kitchen sink. "Maybe that's the problem." 

"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head." Rufus swung his legs out of bed, and stalked over to Reno, who was leaning on the sink and looking unimpressed. "I may be younger than you but you my bodyguard, at least temporarily, and-" 

Reno's eyes drifted down lazily, a dangerous glint flickering in his green irises. He smiled slowly, bringing his gaze back up to meet Rufus's. Rufus stopped his tirade mid-sentence, ears burning. His hands fumbled for the trailing belt of his seriously undone bathrobe. 

"Don't you have any manners at all?" Rufus hissed, turning around and hastily knotting the strip of velour. If Tseng had undressed him last night, he'd been damn thorough about it. 

Well, it was Tseng, after all. 

"Hey, hey, I got it." Reno put his hands on Rufus's shoulders, spinning him back to face him. "You want him, don'tcha? Fuck, maybe you are human after all. Here." Reno reached out, undid Rufus's haphazard knot, and retied it expertly. "I hate to tell you this, Rufus _sir_ , but we're all in love with Tseng. Down to a man. Get used to disappointment." 

"Do not," Rufus hissed, eyes cold, "Touch me again without my permission." 

Reno backed away, hands up. "Hey, hey, _geez_. You got a real pole up your ass, you know that? What's your problem, anyway? You were a lot nicer last night." 

"The situation differed." Rufus went back into the adjoining bedroom, and, just to show he didn't care what Reno saw, tossed his bathrobe across his bed and began rummaging in his closet. "It was a different atmosphere. Pleasure, not business. Now if you--" 

"What do you know about either, brat?" Reno leaned against the door frame, looking belligerent. He didn't bother hiding the hunger in his eyes, devouring Rufus visually. Rufus dug his bare toes in the carpet, wishing he'd not given up the security of clothing. "Business or pleasure? No wonder Tseng was in a sulk. You probably thought you could make him do whatever you wanted, right?" 

Rufus clutched his shirt to his chest. "Get out." 

Reno folded his arms. "No." 

"You are under my orders and I am telling you to get the fuck out of my room." 

"And you are a spoiled little boy, and your father wants you watched." Reno stared pointedly at the juncture of Rufus' legs. "So I'm watching you." 

"If you don't leave this instant I'll--" 

"You'll what?" Reno stood up straighter. His nightstick was suddenly in his hand, loosely held, his voice was dangerously casual. "Beat me up?" Reno was looming over Rufus in a matter of seconds. "What are you gonna do, huh?" Reno lifted Rufus' chin with his nightstick, his other arm pulling him in closer. "You know what I think you need? You need a good fuck. You need some stains on those perfect white sheets of yours; some stains on your perfect little sterile life." The steel-capped end of Reno's nightstick was cold as he traced Rufus' lips. 

Rufus, shaking with fury, could not move. "Get your hands off me." 

"You don't like my hands?" Reno switched his grip on Rufus, the weapon moving away from his face and pressing its cold tip against the back of Rufus' thighs. Rufus hissed, turning his face away. "I'll give you something else, then." 

Reno's arm moved and Rufus cried out in mingled rage and alarm, something cool and smooth pressing against him, into him. "Let go." 

"You let go first." Reno lifted Rufus against his hipbone, making Rufus spread his legs and stand on the end of his toes as Reno slowly moved the nightstick tip into him. Rufus, hands clutching Reno's lapels, did not squirm away. "Ummm. You like it, don't you?" 

"You... have no right... to..." Rufus arched back, crying out. Reno grinned, feral, and pushed in harder with his nightstick, until Rufus was choking, beating his fists weakly against Reno's chest. 

"No. I don't. The world isn't fair, Rufus. And you can't make people do what you want if you don't have anything to back. it. up. with."

Every word was punctuated with a jolt of the nightstick, and Rufus folded his hands between his legs, out of modesty or need he wasn't sure. "I... I..." 

Reno slowed down, reaching up to make Rufus meet his eyes. "Listen. Have I hurt you yet? Besides your pride, I mean, and that could stand it." 

Rufus, given a little leverage, took a deep breath, shook his head. "No." 

"Does this feel nice?" Reno slid the nightstick out almost all the way, and back in again. "You like it? If you don't, hey, I'll stop now." 

Rufus moaned, resting his head on Reno's shoulder. "It...it's good." 

Reno nuzzled Rufus' hair. "Make you wanna touch yourself? Don't get shy on me now, we all do it." 

Rufus pressed back experimentally on the smooth, slender weapon inside him, the metal now hot from his body. His fingers slid over himself, and he nodded. "I--like it." 

"Good." Reno kissed Rufus' hair. "Cos if you wanna ask Tseng for anything, you have to know what you want. And what you're getting into. Trust me, he's gonna be a lot more than this little thing." 

Rufus' hands tightened around himself. "It... doesn't hurt." He pushed his hips back and gasped, then did it again. "Unnnn..." 

Reno grinned. And Rude asked him why he didn't prefer guns. "That's right. Now you're in control. Go ahead and take it, Rufus. Take what you need." Reno slid his palm along the warm shaft of his nightstick, holding it in place for Rufus to rock onto it. Rufus shook violently, legs trembling with exertion. 

"Ah... ahhunnn... Reno--!" Hot white spilled over Rufus's shivering hands and onto Reno's uniform navy pinstripe, Rufus collapsing against Reno's chest and panting for air. Reno eased his grip on Rufus and slowly removed his weapon, pressing the tip in and out a few times, just to make Rufus shudder. 

"There, there now, I got ya. Feel better?" 

Rufus made a vague noise of affirmation, curling onto his side as Reno laid him crosswise on the bed and grimaced at the condition of his nightstick and suit. Not that he was the tidiest of the Turks, but still. "Hey, you just stay there a sec. I'm gonna clean up." 

  


By the time Reno came back out of the bathroom, Rufus had found his gun. 

It didn't matter that he'd never been trained to use one, that hadn't prevented him from keeping one in his bedside table since he was thirteen. 

"Aw, shit." Reno made a face at the silencer-equipped muzzle pointed in his direction. "What the hell's that for, Rufus?" 

"You will address me properly in the future, if you have one." The pistol wavered slightly, and Rufus shifted his grip on it, hands still sticky and knees trembling as he stood next to the bed. 

"What, you gonna shoot me? You don't even know how to use that. C'mon, givit here." Reno took a step closer. There was a soft noise and the plaster next to his ear exploded as the bullet embedded itself in the bathroom door. "Hey! Be careful with that! What's your problem, anyway?" 

"I do not appreciate being taken advantage of." Rufus tossed his head, managing to sound haughty even in nothing but his skin. "You had no right to-" 

"Did you even listen to a _goddamn_ thing I said?" Reno demanded, more exasperated than alarmed. "Now dammit, Rufus, put down the gun before you hurt--" Reno made a grab for the pistol and everything happened very fast. Rufus lunged back, off-balance. The gun bucked in his hand, there was a muffled thud, and Reno went limp, making Rufus stagger with his sudden weight as they both tumbled onto the bed. Rufus twisted himself up, heart hammering, eyes wild. Reno's hair tumbled across the pale sheets in a smooth red wave, curving around the bright red stain spreading across the sheets as if loathe to touch it. His face was turned away, into the pillows. 

Rufus' gun slid from his fingers, leaving a ghostly trace of gunpowder on the perfect, white carpet. 

  


He did not remember getting on the train. Or getting dressed, for that matter, or leaving the ShinRa building. Reno he remembered, in a still pile on his bed. Surely he hadn't killed him. 

Had he? 

Rufus stared grimly at the floor of the train, and an empty beer bottle that rolled back and forth with the motion of the vehicle. He'd only come to himself a few moments ago, on a vacant train car with the automated clock reading well past midnight. 

How long had he been here? Too long, judging by the dead feeling in his ankles. He hauled himself to his feet and winced, wiggling his toes in his shoes until sensation returned. 

_Attention Midgar Line Passengers. This is the last train to Sector Four. All passengers please depart at this station. Thank you for riding Midgar Lines._

Rufus chewed his lip thoughtfully. Did this mean he was stuck? He'd never been on the train before, so when the lights went out suddenly a few seconds later, he had no idea it was a routine ID check. He didn't have time to ask about it when they came back up, either, because a very sharp object was pressed to the collar of his shirt. 

"Hello hello hello. Lookie what we got here, Renk." A pair of green eyes surveyed Rufus thoughtfully. "Buddy, don't you know it's not _safe_ to ride trains alone at night? Hey, how about we keep you company? For a fee, of course." 

Outside of Rufus's line of vision there was a chorus of chortling agreement. "Heh heh, what are train fees running these days, Vance?" 

"I don't know. He looks broke to me." 

"Hmmm." The green eyes pulled back, and Rufus saw that they belonged to a long face, with lank pale hair. "I don't know. Those are expensive togs you got on there, blue-eyes." The knife did not move as Rufus' assailant dug his fingers into Rufus' pockets, groping a bit more than necessary. "Ehh... he's got nothin' on 'em. Hey, pretty boy. Who'd you steal your clothes from?" 

Rufus tried to summon the glare that worked so well on his secretary. It was difficult, with a butterfly-knife nuzzling up to his jugular. "I didn't steal them. They're mine. If it's money you want I can get it for you." 

Growled laughter, and now Rufus could see the others. There were three of them, all equally hard-eyed, even the small one that looked younger than Rufus was, his pupils dilated to nothing, eyes bloodshot and far too bright. Candathine junkie, probably. Another was a giant brute with red hair, another slim and impassive behind round glasses. They hung on the seats and clutched the ceiling straps for support, hunched and lean like animals. Like predators. 

"Can ya, now? You hear that, boys? He can _get_ us some." His assailant leaned in closer, breath hot. "Well, how are you gonna _get_ it for us, huh? Maybe we wanna take it for ourselves. We don't do IOU's, you know. Just aren't trustworthy." 

The small one twitched a little, rocking on his heels. "I want 'im. I want 'im first, Stratzki. You had the last one. Twice. Right? Right, Helmholz?" 

Helmholz, the one with spectacles, shrugged. "As if I keep track." 

"Well, well." Stratzki ruffled Rufus's hair. "So, whatcha gonna do, huh? We've been protecting you for three minutes now and we ain't got a damn thing for our pains." 

"Unhand me." Rufus snarled, fists clenching. "You mangy gutter-shit, I'll have you know I'm Ru-" 

"Ah! _There_ you are! Hey, Stratzki, Vance, Guys. How's it goin'? You found my bitch for me, huh?" 

Rufus blinked, and tried not to pass out from sheer relief. "Reno! I thought I-" 

"Hey, now!" Reno's eyes were bitter. "You just shut up, you little fuck. I'm damn tired of chasing you all over Midgar. You think I pay you what I do so you can pull stunts like tonight?" 

Vance, the small one, frowned. "Is this _your_ whore, Reno?" 

"Whore!" Rufus spluttered, but Stratzki slapped him hard, across the face. 

"Don't talk back to Reno, now. He's an old friend." 

"Yeah." Reno walked across the train car, hips swaying with the motion. "Yeah. Little shit tried to run out on me." Reno grabbed Rufus by the front of his shirt, glaring at him. "You better not say _one more word_ , got it?"

Rufus, hoping he did, nodded. 

"Well," Renk drawled, rubbing his chin. "Hey, Reno. We'd like to give him back to ya and all, but you know the rules." 

Reno smiled amicably, holding out his hands. "C'mon, guys..." 

Stratzki's blade fluttered from Rufus's throat to Reno's. "Sorry, old friend. But you know how it goes. We let you go, we gotta Mark ya." 

Rufus quickly began to realize he wasn't as saved as he thought he was. 

"Geez." Reno put his hands on his hips, almost pouting. "Some friends you guys are! I could set you up with some gil--" 

"It's not a matter of gil." Helmholz stood up straighter. "Honor. Rule of the streets, Reno. Don't tell me you forgot. We're letting you go easy." 

Reno nodded, glancing at Rufus for a second. "Hey, hey, wait. How bout you give 'em both to me? He gets one and his career's over. C'mon, guys, for old time's sake. Whaddya say?" 

" _His_ career?" Vance purred, creeping over to Reno and slipping a hand inside his jacket. "What about _your_ career, Reno? You used to be the best in Sector Four, maybe in Midgar." 

Reno carefully removed Vance's hand, but not without a smile, and not before Rufus saw him wince. "Hey, knock it off, there. You know how ticklish I am. Besides, you probably got more cash now to spend on your candy and not on me, right?" 

"Candy candy," Vance muttered, waving a hand in disinterest. "I need more now that you're gone. Does being a Turk pay more than spreading for me?" 

Rufus blinked at Reno, trying to stifle his surprise. Reno used to--? 

"It must." Stratzki jerked his head in Rufus's direction. "He can pay for this piece of cake. Must be what, 3000g or so a fuck, huh?" 

Reno shot Rufus a glare that could have warped the train tracks. "Yeah. A real arm and a leg." 

Rufus stared at the floor. He really had no idea what was going on outside his room. Maybe Reno was right. 

"Well," Helmholz flicked a slender dagger out of nowhere. "Since you don't need to sell your pretty face anymore, and cos they'd look better on you than on your pet, I'm for it. Guys?" 

"Shame," Vance sighed. "Such a pretty face, Reno." He tilted his head. "Give him nice ones, Helm. Make 'em neat." 

"I know what I'm doing," Helmholz carefully polished his dagger on his sleeve. "You want Renk to hold you down, Reno?" 

Reno shrugged. "Nah, I'm fine. Cheaper than a tattoo, anyway." 

Rufus looked around the train in alarm as Helmholz advanced. Reno was just going to-? "Wait! Reno, you can't-" 

Stratzki cuffed him again, against the back of his head. "It's your fault, you little snot. Next time don't run away." 

"It's okay, kiddo." Reno winked at him. "S'why they pay me the big bucks." 

"Please hold still, now, Reno." Helmholz requested, politely. "I wouldn't want you to lose an eye." 

Reno went motionless, not even blinking as Helmholz's slender dagger flashed out once, twice in the flickering light of the train. For a second there was only thin thread of white on each of Reno's cheeks, and then they welled up with red, spilling in bloody tears down his neck and soaking into his open collar. 

Helmholz bowed, and fastidiously wiped off the knife before putting it away. "Very few have gotten away with just one, Reno. Nobody with two. Wear them proudly." 

Reno might have smiled, but it obviously was agony. "You always did good work, Helm." 

Stratzki shoved Rufus towards Reno and left the train, offering an affectionate pat on Reno's shoulder as he went. "Better get a doctor to look at those cuts, Reno." 

The gang members filed out of the train car, Vance lingering a moment to eye Reno speculatively. "Come and see me when they're healed, hey, Reno? I bet they make you look tough." He fondled Reno's ponytail and then followed his companions to the next car. 

Reno did not watch them go, but waited until he heard the door slam. Then his knees gave out. 

"Reno!" Rufus moved forward, hands making small useless motions. He had no idea what to do, and Reno's blood was spattering on the floor of the train. "Reno, I thought I shot you!"

"You _did_ shoot me, dumbass! Badly, at that."

"I didn't mean to, I--just--oh, fuck, Reno your _face_..." 

Reno grabbed Rufus for support, pulling himself to his feet. "Oh, you get it now, huh? Sweet Shiva. When I feel better I'm gonna take you out and show you how to use a gun." Reno winced, pressing his hand against his side. The dark fabric was damp; Reno's hand had left a red print on Rufus' sleeve. "C'mon. I'm taking you home." 

"But you're hurt and I don't know where-"

The train squealed to a halt, sending Reno sprawling into Rufus, Reno's face staining the expensive fabric of Rufus' shirt. 

_Midgar Lines, last stop. Sector Four. All passengers please depart. This train is now out of service. Next train will be at 3:27 a.m. Thank you for riding Midgar lines. Repeat..._

Reno staggered out the opening into the cold streetlight of the lower city, Rufus following blindly. Nobody at the station even looked at them twice. Rufus had never been in the slums before, and it took a moment before his eyes sorted out the jumble of rubbish and scrap metal to recognize one of the ShinRa helicopters in a small clearing of dirt, Rude standing stoically beside it, waiting. 

"Rude!" Relief flooded through him as Rufus ran over, forgetting, for the first time in his life, exactly who he was. "Reno's hurt! Get us to Midgar General and-" 

"It's good to see you all right, sir." Rude spoke unhurriedly, holding open the door to the helicopter. "Would you like to go home now?" 

"I would like," Rufus said, through clenched teeth, "To go to the fucking hospital right now." 

"Sir, Reno will be quite alright. He can be tended to once you're home. Unless you are injured?"

"No, goddammit I'm perfectly fucking fine!" Rufus's eyes went hard, and something in him snapped. "But by Odin you are not to take me anywhere until Reno is taken care of first, is that clear?" 

Rude looked at Reno, who lifted his shoulders weakly. "Heh... let the punk do what he wants. I mean... I know he comes first and everything but I wouldn't mind a little... R and... R..." Reno slumped against Rude, out cold. 

"He took these cuts for me, Rude," Rufus said, quietly. "Now." 

"All right." Rude said, and he must have been worried behind his dark shades, to yield so easily. "But then you are going-" 

"I'll go to the moon if you want, Rude, just get us out of here. I never want to see this place again." Rufus climbed in the chopper, holding out his arms. "Give him to me." 

Rude carefully arranged Reno in Rufus' lap and fired up the helicopter, the blades scattering debris as it lifted off to Midgar's upper level.

  


Tseng hated days off. 

Something always went wrong when he wasn't there, no matter what. He would rather have sent Rude to watch Rufus, but President ShinRa had needed him for something, and that was that. Reno was impulsive, young, irreverent, and hadn't learned to not say what he thought, and around someone like Rufus that could be very bad indeed. And apparently, it had been.

The message said to come straight to Midgar General when he got back. It was from Rude, and therefore not long on details. Reno was nowhere to be found, Rufus' room was abandoned, the sheets stained with blood, gun left lying on the floor. Worse than even Tseng anticipated. 

He really hated days off. 

He strode down the corridors of the hospital with cold fury, his eyes narrow, unaware of the nurses who scrambled to stay clear of his path. _If that spoiled little shit had killed Reno.._. 

The room was dark, Reno a still shadow in the bed with both sides of his face bandaged. Curled in a stiff hospital chair in one corner was, wonder of wonders, Rufus ShinRa, curled in a rumpled ball and fast asleep. Tseng was investigating the bloodstains on Rufus' jacket when Reno stirred in the bed, his green eyes gleaming in the dimness. 

"It's all mine. He didn't get a scratch." Reno's voice was soft, blankets shifting as he sat up carefully. 

"I hesitate to ask what happened." Tseng left Rufus where he was and bent to examine the bandages on Reno's side. "He shot you?" 

"Weeeellllll... I kinda deserved it." 

"Because you made him angry?" 

A careful grin formed around the bandages on Reno's face. "Nope... I forgot to get the gun out of his bedside table before pissing him off. Besides, I don't think he really meant to shoot me. He was more surprised than I was." 

Tseng laughed once in what he pretended was not relief, his fingers sliding gingerly--and familiarly--over Reno's side. "Looks like he just clipped you. What about these?" Tseng did not touch the gauze on Reno's cheeks, as if knowing how much they must hurt. "He didn't...?" 

"Nah. I ran into some old friends of mine in the Trains, looking for him. Rufus ran off after he shot me. I blacked out a sec, musta scared the holy hell outta him. Don't think he'd ever pulled a trigger before in his life." Reno ran a finger down the side of his face. "One of these is for me, but the other one's for Rufus. Maybe someday he can have it back, but he's too young for that shit now." 

"He's only a year younger than you." Tseng raised an eyebrow. 

Reno's eyes narrowed. "Heh. We both know different. I got eight younger brothers and sisters to look after, Tseng. Every one of them knows more about life than that spoiled..." Reno hesitated, gazing thoughtfully at Rufus. "Well I dunno. Maybe he's learning. I didn't expect him to stay." 

"Wouldn't go home, hmm?" 

"Nope." Reno sighed. "Maybe there's hope for him yet?" 

"Maybe." Tseng looked at the future president of ShinRa Inc. "Maybe so. I hope so, anyway. Where's Rude, by the way?" 

"Went to go find some real coffee. You wanna take his Royal Highness home?" 

"It's probably best. Now that I know you're not dead, that is. I expect you back on the job in two days, of course. Don't forget to-" 

"File a report, I know." Reno smirked. "It's gonna be an interesting one." 

"Tell Rude he's off tomorrow." Tseng looked at his watch. "Make that today. I think I can cover things back at HQ." 

Rufus made a sleepy noise of protest as Tseng bent and scooped him up, but did not wake. "Get some rest, Reno. And next time you want to teach Rufus a lesson, make sure he doesn't have any bullets, hmm?" 

"Right, sir." Reno nodded, sinking back against his pillows. "I won't forget." He gestured to his face, smiling ruefully. "I've got a good reminder. Oh, Tseng?" 

Tseng had started out the door, but Reno's voice made him hesitate, pivoting slowly so as not to disturb the young man in his arms. "Was there something else?" 

"Yeah. You find that gun he used and toss it out the window, would ya?" 

"Why?" Tseng tilted his head. "You have a grudge against it?" 

"Nah." Reno chuckled. "It's a piece of shit, though. I wouldn't use it for a paperweight. I couldn't stand the thought of getting done in by some rich boy's gold-plated peashooter. We should get him a shotgun or something useful. And teach him how to use it. He's a lousy shot." 

Tseng smiled. "Any other orders, sir?" 

"Just one." Reno looked at Rufus, sound asleep and quite possibly drooling on the shoulder of Tseng's jacket. "Take care of him. I'm afraid I did a shitty job at it." 

"On the contrary, Reno," Tseng freed a few fingers to run them down the side of Rufus' face. The only mark he wore was a red indentation from where he'd fallen asleep on the chair. "You did your duty exceptionally. He's safe." 

"I'm a Turk, sir." It was the only answer a Turk should give when praised by his superiors. 

Tseng's eyes narrowed in a near smile. "Yes, you are that, Reno." Tseng shifted Rufus in his arms. "Don't forget about your report. I want full details." 

Reno listened as Tseng's footsteps echoed down the quiet early-morning hospital corridor. 

"I was afraid you might," he muttered to himself, before the painkillers pulled him back down into unconsciousness. 


	4. Targets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Written circa 2000) Rufus hits the mark at last.

_Dig if you will the picture  
Of you and I engaged in a kiss  
The sweat of your body covers me  
Can you my darling  
Can you picture this?_  


  


"There's just one thing I want to ask you, Reno," Rufus leveled his shotgun, finger curled lovingly on the trigger. "And for once just answer me straight."

Reno cocked an eyebrow, unconcerned. "Is that a threat?"

Rufus's lips tightened. "Bastard." The shotgun kicked as he pulled the trigger. He frowned down at his target in faint displeasure. "How, precisely, am I expected to get through to Tseng?"

Reno punched the cycling button, bringing Rufus's target to the front of the firing range and tugging it down from the pulley. "Not with your aim, that's for damn sure." He tsked at the holes in the paper, crumpling it and tossing it aside as a fresh one rotated out. "Try it again."

Rufus rubbed his aching shoulder. "We've been here hours, Reno." He grimaced. "How long am I expected to do this?"

In answer Reno whipped his own pistol out of his jacket and, only half-closing one green eye in a very lazy sort of aim, emptied the chamber at the man-shaped silhouette. "When you can do that."

Rufus pressed the target cycling button and pulled down Reno's work of art, blue eyes flickering with disbelief. "You're a sicko, Reno," he said, but there was a note of grudging admiration. It took a good eye to shoot proper sexual anatomy into a paper target, and Reno only kept a gun on him for formality.

Reno surveyed the holes in the target, connecting the dots. "Pretty well hung if I do say so myself." He began reloading his gun. "Now blow a few more holes and then we can go get dinner. Tseng put me in charge of you this week and I don't want him to think I let you slouch around. Besides, if you were in Turk training, you'd be here three more hours."

Rufus scowled but snapped more shells into their chambers, hefting the shotgun again. "You still didn't--" he grunted as the stock jarred his shoulder, "--answer my question."

Reno arched an eyebrow. "You want Tseng to sleep with you, is that it?"

"That's not what I said." Rufus squinted down the barrel. "I'm asking your advice, you know him better than I do."

Reno ran a hand through his hair, oddly managing to make it neater. "Rufus, I don't think anybody knows Tseng, except for maybe Rude. And I don't see him talking. Besides. It's not your personality, see. At least, not anymore."

Rufus narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

Reno grinned. "Case in point. Not so long ago you would have let me have it for that and asked questions later. That bullet broke two ribs, I'll have you know."

Rufus punched up a new target demurely. "You're lucky I hadn't had any training back then."

Reno snorted, looking at the mangled paper Rufus had just finished with, pocked with holes in the head and shoulder. "Yeah, I am. Anyway, what I'm saying is it doesn't matter how much Tseng wants you or not. Your daddy is the big boss, he calls the shots on whether we live or die, and let me tell you, kid, it's not a good idea to go screwing the person you're assigned to protect. Didn't you ever watch that movie?"

Rufus waved the question away. "That was years ago, Reno. I'm more than old enough to make that choice myself."

"Sure you are." Reno sighed up at his bangs, looking for words. "But it's not your choice. It's Tseng's job that you're asking him to put in danger. All for a shag that, if you'll pardon me, might not even be any good."

Rufus glared. "A what?"

"Logical thinking, Rufus, I'm tellin' ya. It's how he works. If you want him, you're going to have to prove yourself more than President ShinRa's son, the person he's supposed to protect. You need to be more to him than your title." Reno shook his head. "Tseng isn't going to do anything as long as you are who you are."

Rufus reloaded his gun with an emphatic snap. "So you're saying it's impossible?"

Reno lifted one shoulder. "No," he smiled. "But it's pretty damn close."

Rufus's lips tightened, gun firing twice. "That isn't enough to stop me." The target fluttered to the ground, torn through the heart by a double spray of shotgun pellets.

  


"Time, Sir." Tseng rapped once on the open doorway of Rufus's bedroom. "It would be inadvisable to be late."

"Father is delighted with any excuse to find me inadequate," Rufus said, but fastened the silver cufflinks at his wrist and stood, shrugging into his white tuxedo jacket. "So I make it a point to keep disappointing him."

Tseng smiled just a little, mostly in his eyes.

"Right," Rufus said, running one hand over sleek blond hair. "Let's go." They crossed the carpeted hall of the ShinRa building's upper east wing, and Rufus frowned down the empty hallway. "Is Reno late, or is he not coming?"

"Reno has the president to look after this evening." Tseng stared pointedly at the closed elevator doors, and Rufus felt a small ripple of wariness. "Rude is assigned to your father as well."

"Along with the regular security? Isn't that a bit much for a party?" Rufus checked his watch. The elevator was slow. "It's just a charity gala."

"Yes, Sir," Tseng said, without actually answering anything. The elevator door dinged, and Tseng waved him into the clear tube, but Rufus put his hand in front of the buttons before Tseng could key in the ballroom floor.

"What's going on, Tseng." Rufus lifted his head, forcing himself into Tseng's line of vision. "That's an order."

Tseng's mouth was a tight, unhappy line. "There has been some mild terrorist activity, Rufus. Your father requested extra security."

Rufus was unconvinced. "How mild is mild, Tseng?"

Tseng's coolness reached a level usually reserved for reports to the president. "There was an explosion at the gates of one of the city mako reactors. The group claiming responsibility has made a threat with regard to this evening's events, to which, I might note, we will be late." He brushed Rufus's arm aside and pressed the button, the elevator doors humming closed and the car descending.

Rufus glowered. "You could have told me."

Tseng's expression did not change. "There was no need for you to know."

"I beg your pardon if I think death threats to my immediate family are something I need to know." Rufus grit his teeth slightly at Tseng's continued indifference. "Or did you not teach me that information was my greatest weapon?"

The elevator bell sounded as the car stopped on the ballroom level. Tseng tilted his face upwards, somehow managing to convey a greater difference in their heights. "And fear is the greatest weapon of your enemies, Rufus."

"Someone threatening to off my old man is going to scare me?" Rufus lifted his eyebrows. "At worst, I might get my hopes up." The doors to the elevator whispered open, letting in the sounds of polite laughter and the thin, tinkling noise of champagne glasses chiming. Rufus took a step into the doorway and would have entered the room, but Tseng's arm forced him almost violently backwards.

"Rufus," Tseng said, icily and without any formal tone, "the threat this evening was not against your father."

Rufus's scowl deepened. "Are you trying to tell me--"

The sound that interrupted him was quiet, almost musical, like softly torn air. Tseng made the barest noise in echo of it, breath hitting hard against the back of his teeth as he stumbled, and his blood spattered in a fine, delicate mist over Rufus's white jacket.

Rufus could not say later that he had an actual thought of what he was doing. Tseng fell against the doors of the elevator that were trying to shut, forcing them back. He wore his pistol in his left armpit, under his jacket, and it was in Rufus's hand before Tseng slid completely to the carpet. Women were screaming in the distance, people were milling in confusion, fine crystal shattered. Rude had the president flat on the floor with one hand on his back, his gun out, chandelier lights flickering across his sunglasses as he searched the upper balconies; Reno was shoving hysterical socialites out of the way in an attempt to make it across the room to the elevators and Rufus. Rufus caught it all in a flash and discarded it, his vision narrowing on the second story balcony above them. The world closed, focused on the one man in the room who must have rented his tuxedo, slightly out of fashion and tailored badly, too long across his shoulders. Metal gleamed in his hand, vanishing back into his ill-fitting jacket; light flared once over the perfect round shape of the silencer.

Rufus lifted Tseng's gun and fired it.

The Turks only bothered with silencers on special occasions. Three gunshots rang out in the acoustically-tuned ballroom. The first scattered flecks of marble from a balcony pillar. The second and third ones hit home, and the would-be assassin tumbled over the edge of the railing, caught briefly in the ShinRa flag bunting along the side, and crumpled to the floor with a sound of shredded fabric. He was dead long before he hit the floor.

Reno's boots screeched to a halt in the suddenly silent room. "Rufus, are you--"

"I'm fine," Rufus snapped, flinging the pistol at Reno, and ripping his tuxedo jacket off. "Call an ambulance. Now."

Tseng was breathing only shallowly, his eyes closed, the white shirt under his jacket soaked with crimson. Too high to be through his heart, Rufus judged, balling up his coat and pressing it to Tseng's shoulder, counting heartbeats under the sound of Reno's radio, the rising murmur of startled conversation. He heard his father, pompous and reassuring, as if he had already prepared an official statement. "And get him the hell out of here," Rufus added, to Reno, "before I'm tempted to use the rest of those bullets."

Tseng opened his eyes but they did not focus, his fingers crept blindly for Rufus's arm and wrapped around his wrist. Sirens wailed outside; Reno had dialed up extra security and ShinRa guards to clear the room, their boots a distant thunder up the emergency stairs. Tseng closed his eyes again.

 _Please_ , Rufus thought, small inside of himself. _Please_.

  


Midgar had very little actual twilight. Daylight was gray and unflattering and most of the residents were relieved when it was over. Night was the only flattering dress the city owned, and it was low cut green-tinged velvet, sparkling with diamonds. Rufus, at the window that comprised the entire east wall of his apartments, watched Midgar slip into her finery. Folds of darkness cleverly concealed the scars of abandoned buildings and construction scaffolding, her jewels shining under the filmy mako-green veil of sky, and she was suddenly beautiful.

Rufus had watched it hundreds of times, the unchanging dance behind the slowly aging reflection of his eyes. He found himself looking for the young man two years gone, in mourning from his mother's funeral, his reflection his only companion. Light flickered from the street below, doubling and tripling his image in the glass. For a moment Rufus saw not himself, but the shadow of his Turks at his back: Reno's dangerous slouch, Rude's imposing shoulders, and Tseng's crisp lines. The ghosts faded quickly and there was only Rufus in his white pants and black turtleneck, half-finished whiskey and soda in one hand, blue eyes indifferent even to himself.

His doorbell chimed. Rufus took a drink from his glass, watched the motion of his throat and a helicopter leaving from the pad on top of the ShinRa building. "Come in."

The door slid open and shut again; a Turk stood mirrored in the window beyond Rufus's shoulder and did not vanish, his white shirt and face hovering phantomlike over the city. "Reporting for duty, sir."

Rufus drained his glass. "They took their time letting you out," he said, "but it's good to see you on your feet, Tseng."

Tseng bowed, his hair sliding forward against his face. "Someone seems to have insured I got VIP treatment. I was quite certain Reno must have been threatening to break some knees."

Rufus smiled faintly at Tseng, in the window. "I've learned how best to use my name, Tseng. I find a small suggestion can get a great many difficulties out of the way." He rattled the ice in his glass, strode across the white carpet to the bar. "Evening lights," he murmured, and dim golden illumination came up from no obvious source, humming to life on framed artwork and the exquisite matched set of Wutai blades on his desk. "Can I get you something?" he asked, emptying the ice into the sink and upending the glass in the drain.

He always asked; Reno would order a scotch, neat, and Rude, if provoked enough, would have a vodka and tonic, decidedly light on the tonic. Tseng always declined, on duty or no, and would order nothing stronger than coffee if he was at La Vitesse in Rufus's company. Rufus had gradually assumed that Tseng simply did not drink, but Reno had cleared him up on that. Tseng only did not drink in the presence of his employers.

"Amaretto sour."

Rufus blinked, fingertips hovering over the glass.

"If you don't mind," Tseng added, almost apologetically.

"Of course not." Rufus filled one glass with crushed ice and then, with the barest pause, pulled out another and began making two. Tseng stepped over to the polished black marble bar, and watched Rufus top the glasses, measuring the almond liqueur against his fingers.

"You considering an alternate career in bartending?" Tseng asked.

Rufus gave the cocktail a brief stir with a gilded, sword-shaped swizzle stick, and set the glass down on the counter in front of Tseng, on a ShinRa embossed napkin. "I learned how to mix drinks early," he said, swishing his own with one deft clockwise circle and back. "My mother was particular as to her vices; she only drank things straight toward the end." Rufus strolled around the bar, and clinked his glass faintly against Tseng's. "Cheers."

Tseng took a sip, held it and swallowed, and ran his thumb over the edge of the smoke-colored glass.

Rufus rolled the drink on his tongue and made a point of looking out the window. He would not have been able to say before that it was Tseng's drink of choice, but tasting it now he could recognize part of Tseng's scent in the flavor. Tseng took a long swallow and Rufus watched him from the corner of his eye, the way his lips yielded to the hard curve of glass. "It's only been a week. Did the hospital give you full clearance?"

"The amount of cure materia they used on me would have had a dragon on its feet in a week," Tseng placed his drink down exactly in the square of the napkin. "I'm fine." His eyes caught Rufus's and held them, shadowy and unreadable in the low light.

"Good." Rufus answered. They stared at each other, unblinking blue against black, frost and darkness.

For a long moment there was only the silence of the city beyond, muted violin music playing discreetly on invisible speakers. Ice cracked in the glasses on the bar, and it occurred to Rufus that there was something else giving way, yielding to the chemistry in the room, melting and fracturing into a thousand prismatic facets. He caught his breath and couldn't finish it; his blood was ringing suddenly in his ears, the spacious rooms of his apartments crowded in too close. It was as if he had suddenly realized how high up his window was from street level, mounted further still on the plate, and he was falling, sky to ground, with nothing in-between to catch him. Nothing but Tseng, two feet away, impossibly far out of reach.

And then Rufus was crushed against Tseng's chest, Tseng's mouth on his and his heat seeping through Rufus's clothes to his chilled skin. Rufus shivered unconsciously, his fingers tangled in heavy dark hair and his mouth open under Tseng's kiss. Tseng tasted like almonds and alcohol; every breath Rufus took was full of his scent, cloves and expensive aftershave, gunpowder and leather. Tseng held Rufus's face in his half-gloved hands and did not surrender him, pulling hungrily on Rufus's lips and tongue until Rufus realized he was moaning and his body was shuddering as if for air. Tseng pulled back, his eyes still on Rufus's, his thumb tracing the shape of Rufus's parted wet mouth. No words passed between them and Tseng was kissing him again, his lips and jaw and the hollow of his throat, his hands knowing every line of Rufus under the folds of his clothes.

Rufus staggered, losing his balance and finding again, his hands closing on the lapels of Tseng's jacket and then, realizing the freedom granted to them, unzipping the front of it and shoving it back. Tseng hissed only once, when Rufus's hand pressed too hard on newly-knitted muscle. He swallowed Rufus's apology and nipped at his lips, pulling Rufus's shirt loose and undoing his belt, buckle chiming as it fell on the carpet.

Tseng's hands moved under the black knit shirt, finding the line of Rufus's spine and following it to the base of his neck, molding the shape of his shoulder blades, the fragile indentation at the small of his back. Gloved palms slid down the curve of Rufus's ass, hidden in the crisp ironed fabric of his pants. Rufus made a noise that he had never made for himself, desperate and demanding, low inside his throat. "Tseng."

The bed with its ironed sheets and carefully arranged lilies on the bedside table was entirely too far, and both of them knew it. Rufus's black leather sofa creaked quiet protest as its owner slithered down the arm onto his back, Tseng bearing down on top of him.

"We'll ruin this couch," Tseng warned.

"I'll buy a new one," Rufus growled, dragging Tseng down by his shoulder holster, rocking his hips up against the Turk's cold metal belt buckle. Tseng's fingers were deft and efficient, and Rufus's pants crumpled to the floor, his bare legs pale on the smooth leather. His hands were bare and warm, trigger-finger callous the only rough place on them as they pushed Rufus's shirt up, shadowed the shape of his ribs and belly. Fingertips stroked downward from his navel, maddeningly slow. Rufus started, hissing between his teeth as they closed on the aching hard shape of his sex.

"Now," He said, nails digging into the cushions, hips rising. "Tseng--"

Tseng interrupted him with his other hand, easing a delicate argument into the conversation and Rufus's breath stuttered in the wake of his eloquence. His legs spread, unconsciously wanton, silk-fine hair tumbled free over his face.

"Wait," Tseng ordered, searching briefly in his pockets. Light flashed on glass, and he snapped a vial between his thumb and forefinger.

Rufus bit his lip, his eyes on Tseng's face and the line that interrupted the mark between his brows. Tseng's belt clanked, navy twill brushed against Rufus's backside as Tseng lifted him onto his lap, hands dragging Rufus's legs further apart.

"Hold on to me," Tseng said, and Rufus obeyed, arms wound around his neck, Tseng's pistol-butt digging into his ribs. He could feel himself falling again and tightened his grip, pressing his face into Tseng's shoulder, breathing his scent until the wind stopped roaring in his ears.

Tseng turned his head, his lips touching Rufus's ear. "...Do you trust me, Rufus?" He might have been smiling.

Rufus stilled, loosening his arms, leaning back on the couch-cushion. He remembered a garden, a courtyard, Midgar after rain and a spoiled little boy. His eyes narrowed. "Do you trust me, Tseng?"

Tseng was smiling then, nuzzling Rufus's temple. He brought Rufus's hand up, to his shoulder, bullet mark hidden under his shirt. "Yes, Sir."

Rufus raked Tseng's hair back, leaned up, and touched his parted lips to the delicate, precise dot between Tseng's brows. His words were little more than breathing, unafraid. "Show me."

Tseng's hair fluttered down around Rufus's face as he brought his weight down and Rufus made no noise, pressed open and surrendering, Tseng moving into him. Tseng's eyes were on Rufus's, shining black as he shifted and moved deeper until Rufus cried out and relaxed underneath him. Rufus shaped himself to Tseng, knowing how to move like he knew how to fire the gun in the ballroom, lifting himself up into the cadence of Tseng's hips, rubbing his cock into the soft folds of Tseng's shirt. Tseng's fingers wrapped around him. It was too fast and Rufus knew it, his ice fracturing into a thousand pieces, sparkling and sharp like glass, melting into water like frost under warm breath. All the emotion locked inside him tore loose and Rufus was helpless in the face of it. He could only hold on, afraid to close his eyes, until the torrent was too much for him and he came, hard with Tseng's name on his lips and his heat pooling inside him, all over his Turk's thin fingerless gloves.

  


"Junon has reported no change in the baseline statistics, but they do note an abnormality in the reactor core shield." Rufus tapped one finger on the edge of his desk and frowned at the printout. "What has my father said about this?"

Tseng shrugged. "The eight point four percent fluctuation is, according to Hojo, a perfectly acceptable variable in the parameters. It will naturally cause a certain amount of mako radiation leakage, but not more than is standard for the current reactor model."

Rufus looked at the thick sheaf of papers, flipping over to the color-coded graph. "Which is?"

"Nine point seven percent, on the average, for reactors outside Midgar." Tseng folded his hands in his lap. "Incidentally, Midgar reactors have a regular leakage factor of five to seven percent. All of which is discharged beneath the plate."

"Delightful." Rufus turned his glare out the window, to the steady blur of rain. "And while I'm not exactly going to lose sleep over sea turtles with mako poisoning, I find it hard to believe that my father is letting that much gil simply ooze into the topsoil."

"I'm sure the president feels it is better than the cost of repairing the current facility."

Rufus snorted. "Yes, it's so much simpler just to build a new one after it explodes, thereby saving the trouble of leveling the town beforehand." He tossed the papers across his desk. "I'm not sure who, exactly, he thinks he's going to hire in such a situation. The wildlife? Any remaining locals are the ones busily trying to plant bombs in his limo."

Tseng raised an eyebrow, expectant. "Your orders?"

"Get the chopper ready. I have to go out to Junon anyway for regular inspection, I might as well take care of my own business while I'm there." Rufus stood and Tseng echoed him, reaching out to gather the vice-president's coat from the chair.

"I'll pass that along to Rude." Tseng shook out the white coat and held it up, letting Rufus shrug his shoulders into it. "He'll want to fly you himself, I'm sure."

"With you escorting me, naturally." Rufus smiled, a thin sliver of amusement. "Father does not permit me to go anywhere out of your sight, after all."

Tseng bowed. "I could hardly be considered a very good spy, then, could I?" His hands lingered on Rufus's shoulders, warm through the folds of Rufus's coat. He lingered, hair grazing Rufus's cheek. "I wouldn't want him to think I wasn't doing my job."

Rufus leaned back into him, looking at their reflection in the rain-streaked window, dark and light and blurred. "Hardly. As far as I can tell you've been excellent at insuring that his bullets fall far from the mark."

"Only one member of your family is a competent marksman, Rufus," Tseng said, smiling into Rufus's temple. "Your father has never actually bothered to shoot anyone himself."

Rufus twisted in Tseng's embrace, bringing the tip of his trigger finger up the line of Tseng's buttons and tracing a circle around his heart. "Bang," he murmured, a second before Tseng's mouth closed over his.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this last chapter of this a few years after finishing chapter 3, and in the meantime I had written a lot more in our FFVII world and in general. But the time I came to thisI was much more familiar with the characters, the settings, and my own skills. If you can forgive some navel-gazing, I can see the gap between my earlier writing in the first three chapters, and my more practiced tone in this one, which sounds much more like my actual writers' voice. After all, I learned to write by writing fanfic, and I was 22 in '98 when I started this one and almost 25 when I finished, and I wrote constantly during that period. It's funny to me the way in which both Rufus and I grew into our own over the course of the story.


End file.
